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- I moved from the US to Santa Catalina, Panama, after losing everything in a fire in 2021.
- The small fishing town feels surprisingly diverse, and I’ve found I enjoy having less convenience.
- Here, I feel a strong connection to my neighbors and nature that I’d never felt before.
My move to Central America wasn’t exactly planned.
At the end of 2021, I lost everything I had in an overnight fire at my home in Boulder, Colorado. Without my beloved cat or my condo, my life completely fell apart.
So, I did the only thing that made sense to me at the time: I set off on an open-ended backpacking trip. Three years later, and I’m in Santa Catalina, Panama, building a life I never saw coming with the Italian surfer I met along the way.
Santa Catalina, the gateway to Coiba National Park and home to the famed La Punta surf break, is quiet and small with just a few hundred residents and a single paved road.
Its hibiscus-covered fishermen’s homes, dive shops, restaurants, and surf hotels welcome travelers from all over the world. Life here feels worlds away from what I left behind in the US — and that’s exactly what I needed.
Here are a few things that have surprised me about my move.
I was surprised by some of the offerings in town since it is so remote.
We are six hours from Panama International Airport in Panama City and about two hours from the nearest major city.
There’s no Uber or quick Amazon delivery here, and power outages can sometimes last an entire day. Life here can feel pretty off-grid, but we have basics like a pharmacy, an ATM, a police station, and a medic station.
Much to my surprise, we also have several mini-markets with imported specialties like Spanish jamón, Italian pasta, and Swiss yogurt. There’s an abundance of fresh fruits and veggies at the local frutería, too.
I didn’t expect the weather or my connection to nature to get so intense.
The heat here can feel relentless, especially with seasonal humidity reaching nearly 90%. During the rainy season, torrential downpours can last for weeks, causing extreme floods or leaving us stuck inside for days.
Lightning storms are also a serious danger — plus, snakes, crocodiles, and scorpions are all home here. It’s easy to feel worried living in Santa Catalina, especially considering the nearest hospital is an hour away and there’s no fire station nearby.
However, life is full of risks. Living here has made me more present in my daily life and more discerning about what risks I choose to take. Plus, the nature around me is absolutely inspiring.
I grew up by the Pacific Ocean and spent eight years in Colorado, so although I’ve always respected nature, living in Santa Catalina has deepened my connection to it.
All in all, I’m surprised I’m happier with less convenience.
Living in Santa Catalina has reminded me of something that’s easy to forget in a material-driven culture: Happiness often comes from the basics.
Life here feels simpler, and there’s a deep appreciation for the simple pleasures: fresh food, family, and time spent in nature.
Without the constant bombardment of ads and access to free shipping and no-contact delivery, I’ve realized just how much I was consuming back in the US — and how isolating it felt.
These days, I wear the same clothes on repeat and own less than I ever have. When I really need something, I use a P.O. Box in Miami that ships packages to Panama. It’s always a little celebration when they finally arrive.
I didn’t realize how individualistic my life was in the US until I moved here.
In a town as small and rural as Santa Catalina, community is everything.
A walk to the beach means not just greeting neighbors, but also stopping for a chat and feeling genuinely connected with them — something I rarely experienced in my more urban city in Colorado.
I don’t think I’d fully grasped how individualistic US culture was until living here. Now, my relationships here feel open and informal — people check in on each other, lend a hand without hesitation, and prioritize collective well-being. It’s refreshing.
Santa Catalina actually feels quite international.
For a tiny fishing village with only a few hundred residents, Santa Catalina feels surprisingly diverse.
Alongside the local fishing families who have lived here for generations, there’s a small but tight-knit community of immigrants, digital nomads, and surfers from all over the world. I’ve met families from Argentina, dive instructors from Germany, and chefs from Italy.
The mix of cultures creates an interesting contrast — one where you’ll hear Spanish, Italian, and English in the same conversation and find fresh-caught fish served alongside homemade gnocchi.
